


Our Bondage it Shall End, By and By

by elroi



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Boring exposition, Byerly Vorrutyer being a mouthy bitch, Homophobia, M/M, Masochism, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elroi/pseuds/elroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byerly Vorrutyer can't keep his vor-mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT: Note, this fic has spoilers for the saga. If you haven't read "A Civil Campaign" or beyond, don't read this yet.
> 
> DRAFT ALERT: This fic is likely to undergo at least one more revision, so comments and suggestions greatly appreciated.

_ Staggering drunk _ . That was how he needed to appear in the reports his tails would write. That meant more hamming it up on the prat falls, and mores swigs from the brown bagged bottle.  _ Oh the things I do for love. _

Byerly stopped under the streetlight, swayed, made a show of examining the heft of his bottle, and upended it into his mouth.  Four gulps took the whiskey down past the busted lip, bitten cheek, and loose molar.  _ Sweet reprieve _ . It didn’t  _ have  _ to be an excellent make, it was after all a prop that was mostly supposed to end up on his clothing, rather than in his mouth, but you had to consider the long-term ramifications of how the purchase would look on one’s credit chit history. By knew his were watched, probably pored over in excruciating detail by some desk widge whose job it was to keep tabs on changes in the wealth, status, and tastes of all the observed low-threat marks.  Well, if By was going to get bribed later with a bottle of something, he wanted it to be something fantastic.  _ Oh, Countess. You  _ shouldn’t _ have!  _

The molar was going to have to be fixed though. Maybe he could worry it around in there for another day or two and milk the thing for all it was worth? But eventually he’d have to get it repaired. Eventually could be a long time when you were titled and honored Vor rather than flush of cash and heavily landed Vor. So whom should he hit up for this particular medical care charity case? The trick with more cash and less need? Or the hornier one who hoarded his dimes only to later ask By very nicely to take them off his hands?.   _ Or do dentists themselves barter? _ By’s mouth crooked in an anticipatory smile.

One boot stepped awkwardly onto the loose laces of the other, and By stumbled and fell on his ass.

Another swig while he was down here. That’s the ticket.  _ Maybe I will have the pleasure of not remembering any of this in the morning. _

With an effort, By got himself up, dusted himself off, and tripped lightly to the wooden streetside bench, which was to be his rendezvous. He was early, but not so much that he would appear too eager, he hoped. To kill time, he unbuttoned his frilled shirt and fanned himself off with a crinkled up copy of the now ubiquitously plastered-up poster. WANTED: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN? with a portrait of the missing Lady Vornitre.  _ Not lately _ , thought By. He couldn’t be sure if she had ran the con on her lord husband and then skipped town? Or had ran the con on him, skipped town, and then was legitimately abducted after that. But that was so far not his department. Impsec’s compartmentalization about things was a blessing sometimes.

So tonight, all he had to do was PRIME MISSION GOAL: hold this position, SECONDARY MISSION GOAL: keep the adjoining block clear of visitors until oh two thirty five, and SECONDARY MISSION GOAL: hook up with his contact and get a briefing. Well, it was already oh two thirty eight. Time for a nap.

_ Fuck. Here comes company.  _ Three voices … no … four? Loud and brash. Men in ImpMil-issue boots, from the sounds on the stone walkway, very close. And treat of treats, one of the voices was recognizable as the younger Vorasswipe. Shit. Nothing like ex-lovers to spoil one’s evening vista. The others most likely his goons or hired friends. Maybe he could feign already having passed out here? That might not be better; a sleeping target was still a target. But then they’d end up walking right on through into possibly as-yet-still-classified territory in the next block. He should at least try to delay them at least for a moment.  _ Nothing for it, Byerly, but to be seen as the honorless scab everyone knows you are _ .

The vorling and his cadre turned the corner. By plastered on his most lurid of smiles. “Why, Vorashton! It  _ is  _ you. Uniform looks delectable. Lovely summer evening, don’t you think?”

“Fuck off, By,” laughed Vorashton, “you’re wasted.” He gave a playful punch to By’s shoulder. By wavered and his eyes lit in a brief flash. “Really wasted.”

“‘swhat everyone says,” said By, and he had meant to add onto that a drunkish dismissive gesture of nonchalance, but apparently he had actually consumed superthreshold amounts of alcohol at this point, so he just ended up frowning/staring at the bottle.

Nobody said anything else. The initially awkward silence melted into something else and the troupe turned to go. Good. He should let them. His contact was due to arrive at any moment and they should minimize the observers involved … the timestamp on his wristcom suggested the cleanup crew up ahead should be done by now.

But then, after a few steps more, a stage-whisper from thug-the-tallest to the vorling., “what are you doing associating with that fag Vor _ rut _ ter?” By's fists clenched around the wadded up poster, making an audible crushing crinkling noise.  _ I’m a trained eavesdropper, asshole. I can hear you.  _ And then, Vorashton’s pity-filled reply iced him over: “It's disgusting isn't it.”

_ You hypocritical entitled little shit. _

_ Count to ten. Don't react. Deep breaths. Do not engage. You can't be conveniently bribable and at the mercy of your blackmailers if your proclivities aren't a shameful secret. _

By got all the way down to 2 before his mouth got him in trouble. Again.

He bellowed, “Didn't think it was so disgusting last time, with your lips wrapped around my dick, did you?“

The retreating party halted, and By continued, “Or, maybe you did think it was disgusting, but did it anyway. *hic* y’loyal Vor. Took it like a champ.” Vorashton spun around indignantly. “Take. That. Back,” he seethed. By retorted, “See, I would, but I've got this  _ thing _ for honesty.” He grinned, “Positively a fetish. Can't help myself.”

Vorashton stepped forward, drawing his sword.  _ A duel? How isolationist!   _ “Oh tuck it back in your trousers. I told you before, I'm not interested in  _ your  _ sword.”

The vorling dropped the sword, shouted in rage, and leapt. Before the sword hit the ground, Vorashton had closed the distance between them and was using his considerable youthful strength to haul Byerly up out of the bench. By went limp and rag-doll compliant eyes alight; flushed and breathing shallowly. He was grinning from ear to ear.  _ Go on, pretty boy. Hit me. _

One of the tagalongs put a hand on Vorashton's shoulder. “Fasil, let it go. He's obviously skunked and is just trying to get a rise out of you.”  _ Yeah, By, let it go. _

_ “ _ Turns out I'm really good at getting a rise out of him.”  _ So much for letting them walk away. _

At a head flick from Vorashton, the other two companions grabbed Byerly by the upper arms and held him upright. He gave an experimental struggle, but they held him fast. The punch to his solar plexus was heavenly.  _ Oh vorling, you take my breath away.  _  He couldn't fold, though. The Luddites bracing him to either side were better than manacles. But if By didn’t keep him interested, that might be the end of it.

“You even hit like a girl,” he wheezed. That earned him another punch, this time to the jaw. Sparks of pain exploded in his brain. It was savory; like eating hot sauce on shards of broken glass. He tasted the salt of his re-split and bloodied lip. The molar in there decidedly out, now. One more provocation ought to do it. He dropped his voice to a bedroom growl, his words coming slurred and stuffy sounding from the swelling.

“If  you wanted to touch me again, all you had to do was ask.” And that finally got him going. Vorashton locked into a steady rhythm of kicks and punches. Something reliable. Something you could  _ depend  _ on. By blissfully shut off his brain and for once, stopped his traitorous mouth. He had to leave a governor on it, though, to be careful to make noises that would be interpreted as signs of discomfort and distress. No pleasure moans. No relaxed relief.  _ Pity.  _ But by his word, no protests would dare mar his tableau. He really  _ did _ have a thing about honesty. And besides, hearing even an unconvincing, “no, stop, please don’t”, they might acquiesce.

Every few moments, his attacker would change it up, and By would be acquainted with others of his bodily organs.  _ Kidneys! I have kidneys! Hey, did you know I have kneecaps? I have kneecaps! _ Every contact was delicious. Every bruise would become a treasured memento.

When Vorashton began to flag, By egged him on to renewed vigor with a lurid comment about the lasting power of young men and got another go round out of him. But even a strapping vorling doesn’t have limitless energy. Or patience. After sufficient time that his lordlingship was satisfied that A Statement had Been Made -- which was sadly only about 5 minutes -- the studly man-acles dropped Byerly unceremoniously onto the cobblestones, gave him a parting kick each for good measure, and walked off with Vorashton at a brisk clip. By curled up into a ball on his side and sighed languidly.

“I thought,” said a voice from the bushes behind the bench, “I was meeting a covert ops agent here. But, that can’t be you. Nobody can be covert ops who has such a short fuse.”

Byerly fuzzily recalled why he had come out to this spot in the first place and began to pull himself piecemeal up onto the slatted wood bench. He lifted his face to the dim shadows behind the bench and squinted his one untouched eye at the face of the speaker.

  
“Oh,” said By. “It was you.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byerly is shipping out on short notice for a new mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT: This chapter contains series spoilers. If you haven't read A CIVIL CAMPAIGN and beyond, and care about spoilers, don't read this yet!
> 
> DRAFT ALERT: This chapter may undergo another edit later on for consistency with future chapter plot points.

“Oh,” said By. “It was you.”

Byerly squinted up into the dark skinned face of his contact and frowned sourly. The mix of alcohol and stomach punches threatened to decorate the parklet with his dinner. He recognized the gent as his would-be protector from earlier. The one who had tried to de-escalate things. There he stood making the prearranged hand signal and everything. _I didn't make your job very easy, did I. But I can’t bring myself to be sorry._ By chuckled, rediscovered a cracked rib, then hissed in pain, He managed a foppish half-salute. He should be all business right now but the endorphin high hadn't gotten the memo yet. Hopefully this would scan as ‘drunk’.

“Can you just not let it go when somebody impugns your honor?”

“I can’t …” _miss an opportunity like that to get the shit kicked out of me by an ex lover and two hunky sidekicks? Go that long without pain? Remember the last time I’ve been this turned on?_   “can’t ... stand liars. Especially titled two-faced liars like darling Fasil. I do have one or two principles lying around here,” By looked left and right. Behind the bench. Turned out his pockets. “... somewhere.”

“I’m taking you to a doctor. You’re pretty banged up.”

 _Hey, two birds time!_ “And a dentist. I’ve lost a tooth, It’ll be somewhere around here on the ground. Gotta be replaced.”

“Don’t suppose you get access to ImpMil?”

“Not unless I don’t want to work ever again. I can’t be seen going in there. You have to understand that. They’ve sent docs on house call to me before.  Might do again.” By stood up wobbly. His knee began to buckle and he reached out to Usher for support. The soldier immediately stepped up, took his arm, and stabilized him. No sign at all that he thought By was the scum of the earth. _Good at hiding it and appearing saintly? Or genuinely concerned for my well-being?_ Hard to tell. At least it would look (to anyone watching) like a concerned stranger helping a broken man to the medics.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Usher.”

“Not Vorusher?”

A pause. “No.”

“Alright then.”

Usher put his hand to his ear and his eyes went distant. “Belay that. Our orders have changed. Rather abruptly. Now we play citizen’s arrest and drunk and disorderly, and you get hustled into ImpSec HQ. ASAP.” Then, louder, “On the double, subject!”

By debated how much resistance to throw into this arrest. Might be able to eke out bit more hurt. But he settled for just being so slow to move as to require some shoves and pushes. _Good for the goose as well as those gandering._

Usher supported him for the two or three blocks to where his bubble car was parked, then packed Byerly in. The drive was soothing and they didn’t spoil it with conversation.

****

Byerly woke several hours later in a medic bay with the worst of both worlds: all the disability that comes with having had the shit kicked out of you, and none of the sensation. The pain in his chest and limbs was dulled, sent down to a whisper. _Opioids. I’ve been under general anaesthetic._ He turned to the side to see a thoughtful glass of water left by his bedside table with a note: NO SOLID FOODS UNTIL BRIEFING.  By experimentally thrummed his tongue across his palette. _Huh. New molar. Nice. And a chintzy hospital gown._ They must have had to strip him to triage his injuries.

Then the memories of how he got here knocked at his consciousness. _Shit. When did I become such a loose cannon._ He corrected that. _Become such a loose cannon again?_ For years he had managed to sublimate his masochism. Collar it as a beast that could be fed in manageable chunks, a once-in-a-while treat, courtesy an imaginative trick, a game lover, or, when no helper was handy, a set of clothespins, boot laces, and razor blades.  But always discretely. Never interfering with his obligations.

 _What’s_ wrong _with me?_

He had to pull himself together. Get under control. Leaving his need so visible would undermine his ability to work. He'd be useless.

_Or worse: a liability._

Self-pity was thirsty work. _Right. Briefing._  By drained the water glass, set it down, and shouted, “I’M AWAKE NOW.”

His superiors must have been waiting right outside the door. They entered immediately.

Chief of Security General Allegre entered first, followed by two aides-de-camp. One bearing a tiny silver tray with a fancy looking letter on it, which he set down on the bedside table. The other was gingerly holding his head in his hands and was shooting By a death glare.

“Vorrutyer.” Chief Allegre nodded to him. “No, don’t bother trying to get up and salute. It will just embarrass us both.”  Well that was fine. By’s right knee was having none of that anyway and his arms were like marble from how the goons had held them back.  The best he could manage was a sort of horizontal ‘at attention’ which seemed to suffice for the General.

“Change of plans, Agent Vorrutyer. We’re going to have this briefing now, here, Not because you can’t hobble up to my office, but because we, I, don’t have time. You’re shipping out on the next slow courier, which departs in four hours. Your personal effects are already being loaded.”

Byerly quirked an eyebrow. It was best in these situations to let your briefer get through the monologue first, rather than interrupt it with questions prematurely. If you were lucky, they ignored the interruption and continued right where they left off. If unlucky, your question acted like a buffer overflow error, and they ended up starting again at the beginning.

The general continued. “You are being temporarily, and I do stress temporarily, promoted to Senior Field Agent, and will be the lead in the Vornitre abduction case. You will be transported to her suspected location on Jackson’s Whole, and will act as liaison for the retrieval team.”

“An ‘eyes and ears’ job, then?”

The Chief nodded. “With added kit. Doctor Wedell and his associates have fitted you with an experimental device to assist in your information gathering endeavors. To whit, your new tooth. It houses a recording system. Mic, solid state writematter, microtransmitter, and ID.” Allegre smiled wanly. “And, in a pinch, it will help us identify the body.”

Allegre had serious reservations about this mission, By realized. He was probably only lately persuaded toward this plan by some advisor or other, and did not expect By to succeed. _I inspire such confidence in men._

“Lieutenant Stephanopolous here just confirmed that the short range transmission works.” The aide detached an ear bud from behind his ear and near-slammed it down on the bedside table. By uncomfortably recalled his shout a few minutes earlier. _Well, that explains the death-glare._

“It won’t store the data forever; the capacity isn’t limitless. But they tell me it lasts for a few weeks before it begins to overwrite with the new.”

Allegre nodded at Stephanopoulos, “You may examine its seating, now.”  The lieutenant advanced, and donned a pair of examination gloves, and poked around in By’s mouth like he owned the place.  Which, come to think of it, wasn’t exactly wrong.

He picked off the gloves. “It’s seated fine, Sir. Docs did good work. It’s not coming out of there unintentionally, so solid foods should be no problem.”

“Good.” Allegre motioned to the hallway and another aide appeared with a cantina lunch tray.” Allegre returned his attention to Byerly. “The prognosis on your injuries is optimistic, say the nurses. Plus, you will have plenty of time to heal in transit.” He cleared his throat. “I also wish to convey my personal commendation to you for your fieldwork last night. Usher tells me your quick-thinking and intervention tactics prevented a most inconvenient interruption of the cleanup crew’s affairs. Those few extra minutes were absolutely critical to getting the job done invisibly. Good work.”

“Sir.” Byerly tried his best to straighten further for the farewell.

“Oh, and you have a … visitor.  He’ll be right in. Good luck, Vorrutyer. And -- be careful?”

“I am the soul of discretion, Sir.”

“Of course you are.” There was no irony at all in Allegre’s tone. He nodded once to Byerly, collected his aides, and out they walked. And in walked his ‘visitor’.

Byerly scrambled to get up. His reflexes were screaming at him. _Have to. Can’t just lie here. Damned drugs._ He succeeded only at sort of scooting up further onto his bolstered pillows. Allegre had been right. In front of _him_ it would have just embarrassed them both. but Simon Illyan was fashioned without that particular flaw. He simply crossed his arms and casually leaned his shoulder to the wall while Byerly fought with his weakly responsive limbs to get himself to rise and salute. After four or five attempts, Illyan investigated By’s lunch tray, picked up an apple, and bit into it. By made a few more attempts, then deflated in exasperation.

“Don’t let me stop you. I can wait.”

“Sir!”

“I don’t get that address, anymore, Vorrutyer, you know that.”

Yeah? Well Byerly had some choice words for _protocol_ and what should happen to its orifices.

“Yes, sir.”

Illyan smiled.  “You look like shit.”

_Well they didn’t retire you for your failing perceptive qualities, did they, sir._

“Are you alright?”

Byerly nodded. “Doesn’t hurt at all right now,” _curse it_ “just some bruises, a broken rib, and a botched knee.”

“That’s not what I asked,”

By flushed. Not with shame -- the former ImpSec chief had long known of Byerly’s needs -- but with gratitude that so far, he hadn't felt obliged to inform Allegre, or anyone else, about them. Apparently two people _could_ keep a secret if one of them was Illyan.

Byerly lowered his chin down onto his chest. “I will be, sir.”

“Good man.”

“Sir,” _why are you here_ didn’t sound right at _all_. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I wanted to see the subject in question. They called me in as a consultant. I … advised against their first course of action.”

“Which was?”

“They wanted to chip you.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Illyan made a thrust-forward gesture, “That’s what I said. Recording is important for this mission. So important that Ops were considering fitting you with an eidetic board modeled after mine. The ‘Yuri 2.0’. Fortunately, Allegre had the sense to ask my advice prior to making his decision.”

“And you recommended against.”

“I couldn’t believe it was even a question. We had to do the, ‘why did you hire a consultant if you weren’t going to listen to his suggestions’ dance for a bit, but it’s amazing what repeatedly forgetting someone’s name will do to their ‘low risk’ claims.”

Byerly exhaled. “Thank you, sir.”

Illyan nodded. A silence stretched, and he crunched the apple some more.

“Sir? Why me? I’m a field agent whose specialty is Barrayaran _local_ interpersonal politics and gossip. Is it because I’ll be a familiar face?” They had met once or twice before … By stopped by their estate to take the husband ‘out for drinks’ … they never said what anyone was drinking.

Illyan spread his hands, “No idea. I don’t get all the puzzle pieces handed to me in hourly reports anymore. I have to wait for the courtesy summaries. I wasn’t need-to-know for that bit.”

_Right._

“Well I’ll leave you to your preparations, such as they are. Let you rest up a bit.” He tapoed at his wrist com, "assuming I can find my way out of this maze again."

With an overcompensation of force, By managed a partial salute from the bed.

“And Vorrutyer,”

“Yes sir?”

“I just spent an hour maintaining that you were too valuable to gamble with. Don’t do anything rash.”

Byerly gulped. “Yes sir.”

Illyan shook his head. “Bon voyage, boy. And do read that letter.”

Illyan strolled out, toss-catching the apple with every step. By shifted his attention to the notecard on the silver tray.  A parting note from... Lady Alys? Strangely thoughtful. Emphasis on the strangely.

By’s gaze rested again on his spare garb. White and green polka dots.

_Going galactic. And I haven’t a thing to wear._

He broke the seal on the letter and began to read. He was re-reading for the fourth time when the delivery gopher came in with a replacement apple twenty minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RememberKoomValley and three other anonymous editors for beta reading and suggestions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RememberKoomValley for edits and suggestions.


End file.
